The Devil and Miss Plum
by XJerseyGirl
Summary: Stephanie is stalked by the Jersey Devil, the myth or the man?


Disclaimer: They all belong to Janet Evanovich except the Jersey Devil, who belongs to American Folklore. Honest!

Warnings: Smut ... my first real attempt!

A/N: The Jersey Devil Museum is a figment of my imagination. The Legend of the Jersey Devil, however, is very real. Just Google 'Jersey Devil' and read the story for yourself. I've been on Halloween Devil Hunts ... God, what a hangover! Thank you Christie, for the smut lessons. Thank you Ange x, for the edit. Thank you both for the encouragement!

The Devil and Miss Plum

XJerseyGirl

October 2006

The full moon had risen by the time Stephanie got to the old estate in the countryside, well past the Trenton city limits. The day had been warm, one of the last of Indian Summer, but once the sun had set, the air had chilled and she wished she had a jacket with her. She had been tootling all over town in the brand new convertible that Ranger had given her as an early birthday present, knowing that he couldn't be with her on her special day. She loved the feeling of freedom that came with the wind in her face, blowing her hair into a curly mess.

Ranger had been gone for almost three weeks now, with at least another three to go. He had called on her birthday, and she had fallen asleep with her cell phone to her ear. She had known that she would miss him, but the closer they got to each other, the sharper the pain when he left. It was a pain that didn't leave her until he came home again. He had spent the last night with her, in her apartment, knowing how much it hurt her to wake up alone in his when he left to catch an early flight.

Each time he left her, it became harder for him, too. The man who swore that he needed no one in his life, who couldn't risk that closeness, finally had to admit to himself that he couldn't live without her. He didn't want to. Each day together proved a little more that they were soul mates, two halves of the whole. Their minds, their hearts, their bodies fit so perfectly together. They truly had been made for each other.

Everyone they knew recognized how joyously happy they were. They constantly needed to touch each other, even if it was just with their eyes. Steph walked around with a dreamy smile almost all of the time and Ranger, well his transformation was almost frightening. The first time he laughed out loud in the Comm Room, the Merry Men had gone for their guns, the sound had been so unusual. That had simply made the two of them go off into peals of laughter and Ranger had tugged her into his office. Tank had found them there half an hour later, just standing with their arms wrapped around each other, drinking the other in. He thought it was a beautiful sight to behold, and he was thrilled for his friends. "Yup, life was good," Tank thought, "life was good."

Today 'Aunt' Stephanie had taken Angie and Mary Alice to South Jersey, to do some research for a school project. Angie was studying American Folklore and had to do a report on the source of a myth or legend. Angie had chosen to investigate The Legend of The Jersey Devil. Everybody in Jersey had heard about the Devil, even if everybody had heard the story a little differently. Still, the legend was over 250 years old. Hell, even the NHL hockey team was named The Jersey Devils.

The dark, musty little museum, if you could call it that, had been creepy at best. It displayed drawings and photographs, newspaper headlines, eyewitness sightings, and police reports, doors with claw marks and pictures of mutilated animals. Dusty dioramas with broken mannequins in lopsided wigs depicted Devilish activities adding to the spooky feeling. One showed the confrontation between Joseph Bonaparte, Napoleon's brother and the ex-King of Spain, and the Jersey Devil, on Joseph's own estate right here in New Jersey. From the dirt poor to the rich and famous, no one was safe from the Jersey Devil!

The highlight of the museum was a replica, reputed to look exactly like the Devil that came straight out of a horror movie. It had the head of a horse, an upright body of a man, arms and legs ending in clawed hands and feet, the wings of a dragon and a long forked tail. The size of Tank, it was partially covered in scales and long black hair. The creature had sharp teeth and a long, lizard tongue. Suspended from the ceiling with its wings extended in flight, Steph had walked into a dangling clawed hand before she realized it was there. To say that she almost jumped out of her skin was putting it mildly. Angie, who feared nothing, almost died of embarrassment when Steph reacted with a shriek.

Legend had it that the Devil was an unwanted 13th child, cursed by its mother. Born in 1735, the baby transformed into a monster at birth and flew up the chimney. Countless animals had been found brutally slaughtered and for centuries, any missing man, woman, or child was blamed on the blood lust of the Jersey Devil who lurked in the bleak Pine Barrens. Over the years it had been hunted by Revolutionary War soldiers, local constabulary, State Police, and hordes of college students, fueled, no doubt, by liberal amounts of alcohol. Steph could remember at least one Devil hunt that she had been on herself. The last reported sighting was in 2005 and historically, October was the month when most found themselves face to face with the Jersey Devil. Angie was hoping for the best and had come armed with her camera.

It had been a long creepy day and no sooner had Steph dropped the girls off at home, when her cell phone rang. It was Tank, asking her to check out a silent alarm at a client's property. It meant turning around and going back out into the country. But she was the only one available to go and, after all, she had nothing better to do this evening. So Steph agreed and with a sigh, off she went.

She pulled into the driveway of the mansion and stopped in front of the gated entrance. Digging the remote out of her purse and pushing the button to allow the ornate wrought iron gates to swing open, she waited. Nothing. She tried again with the same result so she climbed out of the car and searched for the manual override. Three minutes and a few curse words later, she pushed one side of the ten foot high gate open enough to allow her car through.

Even in the daylight, this place was spooky and at night, it was downright scary! She had been here once with Ranger before the security contract had been signed. It was a beautiful old house, more than 200 years old, on an outstanding piece of property on the Delaware River. All it needed was a little TLC, and it would be a jewel again.

New owners were working on the interior restoration, but the grounds were still sadly rundown. Huge old trees leaned over both sides of the driveway, their bare limbs holding hands across the road. Dead leaves thick on the ground blew with each light gust of wind. Clouds trailing across the moon created ghostly shadows that danced in and out of the overgrown bushes and shrubs. The headlights picked up little wisps of fog that swirled across the drive.

Steph got back into her car and drove carefully through the gate. The gravel drive was just a track now, filled with leaves and weeds. The bushes lining the sides were overgrown, partially blocking the way. Going was slow in the dark and the hairs on the back of her neck were standing at attention. As she slowed even more before a bend in the drive, something soft and silent touched her hair, making her duck in her seat and almost take the car off the track. An owl, she thought, or a bat. She shivered and regretted agreeing to come here.

Finally, she pulled the car into the circular drive in front of the house. The only light came from the moon and her headlights. She pulled her phone from her bag and dialed Tank.

"Yo!" Tank answered the call with the official RangeMan greeting.

"Yeah, you too! What the hell am I looking for out here? This place looks like the perfect setting for one of those slice and dice movies."

Tank laughed. He'd been out there before at night, and had to agree with her. He just couldn't let her know that, of course.

"Sorry Bombshell, you were the only one available to check this place out. We've had a whole string of these silent alarms from there. One time a tree limb smashed a window, another time kids scaled the fence, once the electricity went out. Always little stuff or I wouldn't have asked you to go."

"Well, the power's out. I had to open the gate manually and there are no lights on in the house."

"Okay, no biggy. Do a walk around the outside to make sure there's no sign of a break in. You do have your gun don't you?"

"Yes, I have my gun! Jeez! Forget it once and ya never live it down!"

"Once? Come on, Bombshell. You have a history of forgetting your gun."

"Okay, okay, but I've got it now. Anything else besides the walk around?"

"If you find any sign of a break in, call me back. Otherwise, just go in and reset the alarm system. It's in the kitchen, at the back of the house. I'll call the electric company in the morning. And don't forget to call me when you're done. If I don't hear from you in 15 minutes, I'm sending out the Cavalry. Okay?"

"Yeah, I'll remember. I wonder if we could rent this place out for a Halloween party, it's only a couple of weeks away."

Tank laughed knowing the Halloween was Steph's favorite holiday. "Sounds good to me. Oh and Steph, remember new floors in there so no shoes in the house. Talk to you in a few." and he disconnected.

Steph sighed as she put her phone back in her purse. She fished out the gun from the bottom of the bag and grabbed her Maglite from the console. She turned off her car and put the keys in her pocket, she'd need the master to get into the house.

Getting out of the car, she ran the beam from the flashlight over the front of the building, into the overgrown shrubs and up and down the circular drive. Slinging her bag over her shoulder, she started around the house slowly, checking the windows as she passed. The glass was dirty and the light played tricks. Once when she passed the light over an upper window, she could have sworn she had seen something move but just shook it off and credited it to her overactive imagination. Fog from the small lake at the bottom of the lawn swirled through the overgrown garden and snaked around her feet in ghostly tendrils. Small noises made her jumpy and something was watching her from the shadows, she could feel it's eyes on her. Gooseflesh raised on her arms and she hurried on.

Thankfully, the walk around didn't uncover anything suspicious. As Steph came around the side of the house to the front door, her light picked up a plaque embedded in the brick. 'Joseph Bonaparte, 1835'. "Oh great!" she thought to herself. "Just what I need tonight. This was the guy who had a face to face with the Jersey Devil in his own yard! And shit! I'm standing in his yard!" Looking over her shoulder, she all but ran to the front door, admitting herself and a swirl of dead leaves that blew through the foyer.

If it was dark outside, it was like pitch inside. The house was silent and cold. She left her shoes and bag against the front door, propping it open, keeping her Maglite in one hand and her gun in the other. All she had to do was find the kitchen and reset the alarm.

She stepped out of the round, domed foyer and into the hall, playing the beam of light over the floors and walls. Through open doorways she could see furniture covered with white dust sheets, chandeliers wrapped and mirrors draped in the same white fabric that created eerie shapes and added to the ominous feel. Dead branches from the overgrown shrubs tapped on the windowpanes and she jumped at the sound. Those same naked limbs sent shadows creeping across the floors and up the walls. The house smelled dusty and musty, it smelled the way it looked, abandoned.

Steph walked a little faster, her bare feet making no sound on the wooden floors. The hall leading to the kitchen was blocked by building supplies and crates. Remembering the floor plan of the house, she turned into the large reception room. A door to the kitchen was under the beautiful curving staircase at the far end of the room. A scratching noise froze her in place, turning her head to locate the source. A tree branch against the window. She smiled at her silliness and continued to the kitchen door.

As she passed under the stairs into the darkest part of the house, something brushed against her, touching her bare arm. She gasped and jumped back, running the flashlight over the room and up the stairs, nothing. Flipping the safety off her gun, just in case, she made one last attempt to reach the kitchen. If this didn't work, she was out of here. Finally, her hand closed on the doorknob, but turning it, she found that the door was locked.

"Crap! That's it! I'm outta here the way I came in." Steph heard the wind gust strongly and the front door slammed shut, the noise reverberated through the empty old house. A second slam and she turned and almost ran across the floor only to find the tall doors that separated this room from the hall were closed. This is how she had come in, and she tugged on the door handles to open them. Try as she might, the doors wouldn't budge.

She ran to the other set of doors, to find them closed and locked also. Both sets had been open when she had been in the hall, she was sure of it. She turned and stood with her back leaning against the door frame, trying to calm her breathing and her heart rate. She berated herself for acting like an idiot. Wasn't she the girl who had seen every gory movie ever made? Wasn't she the one who yelled at the screen, "Noooo! Don't go in the basement!" and laughed when the character met their untimely demise at the hands of the psycho murderer/monster? Wasn't she the only one who never screamed and hid her eyes and called her friends who did, "Wussies"? Get a grip, Steph!

This was somebody's stupid idea of a joke! "Tank", she thought. "Wait till I get my hands on him. He set this up." she muttered to herself. "Oh, I am gonna make that man pay!"

"French doors! This room has about a dozen French doors", she thought with relief. She started with the ones at the front of the house and worked her way around the room. They were all nailed or painted shut. She could feel the start of panic creep up her throat. Clouds flew over the face of the moon as the winds picked up. She tried to open the next set, her face almost leaning against the pane as she struggled to make the door break free. As the clouds parted, a face appeared on the other side of the glass. She screamed and stumbled backwards, falling on her butt. She heard her gun skitter across the floor and as she crawled away from the doors, she swore she could hear wings flapping.

The Maglite was still on the floor where she had left it. Getting it meant that she had to go back to where the face had loomed. Her pulse was pounding in her ears and her breath was coming in gulps. "Okay, Steph," she told herself sternly. "It's all your imagination. It was probably an owl. You're spooked because you spent the afternoon with the Jersey Devil. Pull up your big girl panties and cut the crap."

She took a deep breath and blew it out, feeling somewhat better. Inching over to the door, she grabbed the flashlight and shone the light around the floor, searching for her gun. It was nowhere to be found. "Now this is just bizarre," she thought. "It didn't grow feet and walk away." She lifted the bottom of the dust covers and looked under everything, but no gun. She knew right then, that she wasn't alone in this house, and she felt a stab of fear streak down her spine.

Pulling herself together, Stephanie crossed the large room to go back toward the stairs. Passing a round table draped in white dust sheeting, a dark spot in the middle caught her eye. There in the center of the table, sat her gun. She grabbed and cocked it, holding out the Maglite and the gun together, at arms length. Slowly turning in a circle, she ran the light around the whole room. Nothing but a few pieces of sheet draped furniture. There were just too many places for somebody to hide.

She needed to get the hell out of there before true panic set in. If memory served her correctly, there was a back stairway down into the kitchen and in the kitchen was the back door. She shone the beam from her flashlight up the staircase but saw nothing and started upward. Halfway up the stairs she felt it. A soft thud, coming from just below her, the sensation that something had moved over her head and landed on the stairs. She froze for a second, trying to locate the source, but when when the dark shape loomed up behind her, she bolted up the stairs as fast as her shaky legs would carry her. The flashlight beam had started to flicker and by the time she got to the top, the light died completely. Desperately, she shook the flashlight then hit it with her hand to no avail.

An oval window at the end of the hall allowed the moonlight to fall onto the walls and floor. Clouds, scudding across the night sky, dimming the light. Filtering through the naked branches of the trees that surrounded the house, the shadows looked like bony fingers reaching out to grasp at her. "Definitely watched too many horror movies," she whispered to herself. Somehow, hearing her own voice out loud was comforting. Kind of like whistling in the dark. "All I have to do is find that back stairway. Then I'm outta here and home free!" Too bad her hands were shaking and her breath was catching in the back of her throat.

She stepped into the deepest shadow to let her eyes were adjust to the dim light. She got the impression, rather than a clear view, of a long wide hall, open doors on either side. The back stairway would be at the back of the house, she reasoned, so there was only one way to go. She started slowly in that direction.

This hall was also littered with workmen's tools and building supplies. Tarp covered shapes loomed up in the dark. Keeping as close to the wall as possible, she made her way toward the back of the house. Halfway there something sharp stabbed into the bottom of her bare foot and she hissed in a pained breath. She limped her way to the nearest crate and leaned against it, feeling along the sole of her foot for the offending object. She found what felt like a long thin splinter, but couldn't get a good enough grip on it with one hand. Not having any other choice, she put the gun on top of the crate, and holding her foot up with one hand, yanked out the piece of wood with the other.

When she reached out to pick up her gun she found nothing. It took a moment for realization to sink in as she frantically swept her hands over the top of the crate in a futile effort to find the gun. The sour taste of fear filled her mouth and her heart slammed in her chest. She pushed off the crate and lurched down the hall for a few feet, her breath was coming in pants. Panic was taking over and she knew that if she gave in to it, she would be lost.

She forced herself to stand still. "I just have to stay calm, find the stairs and get back to the car," she told herself. With her arms outstretched in the dark, she blindly made her way down the hallway, her pulse pounding in her ears. She moved toward the window that she knew to be over the stairway. "Only a few more steps," she told herself. "Only a few more steps in the dark and you're there." She almost cried in relief when the stairway appeared in the dim light, but the 'Caution' sign stole her breath away. Yellow danger tape and plywood blocked the stairwell. A chill ran through her aleady cold body. The only way off this floor was either back the way she had come, or up the narrow twisting staircase to the third floor.

Steph raised her hands to brush the hair out of her face and glanced at the window. In the dim light she looked at her reflection in the glass. A dark shape rose right behind her. She spun around and in that instant, something grabbed her bare wrist. With a small scream, she pulled away and bolted up the pitch black stairway. She stumbled and fell to her hands and knees, crawling upward. A hand wrapped around her ankle and pulled at her leg. Rolling to her back, she drew her other knee to her chest kicked out with everything that was in her. Her foot made contact with something solid and she heard an "Uhh" and her ankle was released.

She scrambled up the stairs on all fours and fell onto the third floor landing. The corridor was narrower here, with closed doors on both sides of the hall. If only she could find someplace to lock herself in, or someplace to hide in the dark, anyplace except out here. She ran silently to the first door and tried the knob, pushing against the door, but it was locked. So was the next and the next. She forced herself to crouch down in the shadows and listen to see if she had been followed, but the only sound was of her own breath, rasping in her lungs.

Back and forth across the hall, each door was locked. Every few feet she would stop, trying to detect any telltale sound. Nothing. But she knew she wasn't alone. She was running out of options. If one of the doors didn't open, she had no choice but to go back the way she had come. "Please, please, please ..." She ran to the last door and when she turned the knob, the door opened and she practically fell into the room. She stumbled forward and caught herself on the back of a chair that was placed in front of a flickering fireplace. There were windows in this room that allowed enough moonlight to make out shapes.

She stilled, knowing he was behind her. Turning slowly toward the door, she could barely make out the man standing in the shadows, his hand on the back of the door, pushing it closed. He turned the key in the lock and then closed it in his hand. The deep shadows concealed his face and body and all she could see were his bare feet. Her silent pursuer.

Stephanie stood rooted to the spot, staring at him. She bit her dry lips and swallowed hard. He took a step forward, and she forced herself to take a step back. Her breath was coming in little pants, her heart racing. He took another step ... so did she. Like dancers, they both stood poised. After a long second, he sprang at her, lifting her and falling, pinning her onto soft, silken sheets.

She screamed as he sank his teeth into the side of her neck, running a trail of bite marks down her bare shoulder as he ripped her shirt. Steph fought wildly against him, but with practiced ease he straddled her, pinning her wrists above her head with one hand. With his other hand he deftly finished stripping off her shirt and bra. She struggled beneath him and tried to buck him off, but it only served to excite him more and he frantically tore off her short wrap skirt.

He stilled, holding her trapped in place. The moonlight caught his eyes and something about his gaze held Steph mesmerized. He stripped off his own shirt and brought one of her hands up to his mouth, kissing, then licking her palm. He forced her hand over his chest and across his abs and lower still to stroke his thick, heavy length. His eyes drifted closed and he groaned at the sensations.

Raising his head, he looked at her with hooded, lust filled eyes and Steph shivered, frightened by the intensity of his stare. With a low growl he fell on her, crushing her lips under his. He forced her mouth open, and his tongue plunged in, searching and demanding, stroking her tongue with his stealing her beath away.

He released her wrists and used his hands to explore her body. Skimming his hands over her sides, his thumbs ran over her hip bones and her ribs. His hands kneaded her breasts feverishly, teasing her nipples, twisting and pulling them gently. She was making little noises as the heat in her belly shot like lightening through her body. He tore his mouth from hers and trailed wet kisses and nips down her neck, dipping his tongue into the hollow at the base of her throat then sliding down farther to find her nipple. His hot mouth on her cold flesh made her gasp and arch her back off the mattress. She threaded her hands into his hair holding him to her as she writhed under him. He sucked harder on her breast and she whimpered, rocking her hips against him, matching that rhythm. Groaning, he dragged his mouth to her other breast and tortured her until she was almost sobbing.

"Please." she whimpered. "Oh, please." Her head thrashed back and forth.

He raised up and stripped off his sweat pants and she reached for him but he captured her hand and wrapped it around his neck instead. Leaning forward, he traced his fingers over her face and neck, down her chest and abdomen. He lowered his mouth to kiss her bellybutton, dipping in his tongue and swirling it around as she arched under him. His teeth scraped over her hip bone and he nuzzled her through her panties. Grasping the lacy material, he ripped them off her and she cried out in surprise. His fingers found her and she was wet and slick with need for him.

Settling his legs between hers then spreading them wide, he forced her legs apart. He hovered over her, then quickly lowered his weight onto her, holding her eyes as he drove all the way into her in one swift thrust. She threw her head back and gasped at the suddenness of it, curling her fingers into his shoulders. He didn't move right away, holding still to let her body fit to him. Dropping his head forward, chin almost to chest, he clinched his teeth with the effort to keep still. His silken hair drifted over her face and breasts and tears slid down her cheeks. He started to move, slowly at first, pulling almost all the way out of her, inching back in. But control is a fragile thing and his broke almost immediately as he responded to his primal needs, and he pounded into her.

For her part Steph met every stroke with equal passion and force, drawing up her feet and planting them flat on the mattress to change the angle and take him deeper into herself. His hands fisted in her hair, her nails clawing his back, urging him to move harder and faster. She could feel the heat curl in her belly, streaking like fire through her veins, until she was trembling with need. She wrapped her long legs around him, anything to bring him closer, deeper. When he loosed a hand from her hair and slipped it between them to stroke her, she came screaming his name. She convulsed almost painfully around him, clinching him like a velvet glove, spurring his own orgasm. He raised up, supporting himself over her on his hands, and thrust into her one last time, throwing his head back, echoing her release with a roar, her body milking him until he was empty.

He collapsed on her, then, slack limbed and panting. They lay, trembling with the aftershocks, hearts racing, gasping for breath. After a minute or two he moved to pull out of her but she held him fast and whispered, "No ... stay."

Finally coming back to themselves, he gathered her into his arms, brushing her damp hair from her sweaty forehead and peppering her face with kisses. "Thank you, Babe." he breathed and pulled her closer.

They were laying side by side, her head resting on his arm. She had her leg thrown over his hip and he was still buried inside her. She ran her hand over his beautiful chest and up his throat to his magical mouth. "I missed you, Carlos." He kissed her fingertips.

"I missed you too, Babe. I couldn't wait another three weeks to see you, it would've killed me."

She gave a small laugh, "I think YOU would have killed me. If this," she waved her hand around, "is what happens with us only being apart for three weeks, I can't imagine what six weeks apart would have been like."

"We're gonna have to work out conjugal visits." He said with a smile. "Do you like this house?"

She turned her head to look in his eyes. "Where did that come from?"

"The people who bought it decided they want to live in Italy and it's going on the market. I thought that maybe, if you liked it, it could be our house." He lowered his voice and grinned, "The Batcave!"

"You want to live in a house with me? Our own home?" She was so touched she thought she was going to cry.

"Babe, I want to live with you in a house, an apartment, a condo, a cardboard box under the Rt.1 overpass. Anyplace you are will be home."

"Well, the house did belong to the ex-King of Spain and there was a certified sighting of the Jersey Devil here. Of course," she purred wickedly, "I'll have my very own Jersey Devil in my bed every night," and she nipped his shoulder.

"So can I take that as a 'yes'?" He arched an eyebrow at her.

"Oh, yeah." She snuggled closer into him.

"Tell me," he whispered as he nuzzled her ear, "How did you like playing 'The Devil and Miss Plum'?"

"I can't believe you set this whole thing up." She giggled. "I really thought you were going to possess me."

He gave her a wicked smile. "Oh, I intend to," and he rolled her over onto her back.

Hours later, as the sun was coming up over the New Jersey countryside, Stephanie turned to Carlos and said with a yawn, "It's your turn to choose the next game, so what'll it be? Naughty Nurse and Patient, French Maid and Randy Employer, Bordello Madam and Cowboy?"

His laugh rumbled deep in his chest as he spooned her and pulled the covers up over them. "Hmmmm. How about Lap Dancer and High Roller? That could be fun." He smiled into her hair at the thought.

"Okay," she murmured sleepily. "Which one do I get to be?"

_And they played Happily Ever After!_


End file.
